


Come Together and Implode

by timehopper



Series: Intersect and Overlap [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Assassins & Hitmen, Bounty Hunters, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Junker Shenanigans, M/M, Mercenaries, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Recall, Recall refusal, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: After Doomfist breaks out of prison, McCree decides he needs to take a more active approach to pursuing Talon. As he takes the first steps in his new journey, he runs into some more new friends... and one old one he doesn't think he'll ever get enough of.





	Come Together and Implode

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is! The long-awaited, long-delayed part 4 to Intersect and Overlap, in which McCree once again encounters a certain special someone. And a few other someone elses! 
> 
> This part is a little bit more light-hearted than the others, but rest assured it's just as important in the long run. I hope you guys enjoy it, and I really hope it was worth the wait! Thank you so much for all your patience! 
> 
> So without further ado... here we go.

Things were a mess. An absolute _mess._

It was all over the news: _“Incident at Helix Security;” “Prison Break-in?;” “Helix Facility Not So Secure After All.”_ All the hype, all the fuss, all the confusion and mass panic, but none of the details. If McCree had to guess, he’d have said it was calculated. That someone was pulling some strings at Helix to make sure their good name wasn't besmirched. 

But he didn’t have to guess. He _knew_. He knew everything. 

It took them a week. One week from the time they met up at Vishkar to bust Doomfist out of prison. McCree supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised - Talon had always worked quickly - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry over it. Especially not after he’d reached out and contacted as many Overwatch agents as he could out of the ones he knew went back. As soon as he’d left India, he'd called them up, told them just about everything - that he'd walked right into a Talon meeting, that they had plans to get Doomfist back, that Vishkar was compromised (or, at least, one man was with Talon’s inner circle), and that Moira O'Deorain was working with the enemy. The only thing he _hadn't_ said was who else he'd run into. He doubted Genji would take kindly to the news of his brother's whereabouts and what he was doing for a living. 

But even with the warning, Talon had won. The news wasn't reporting what had happened exactly, but there was no mistaking it: the mission McCree had overheard was successful. And now it was only a matter of time until Talon went for the gauntlet. 

He knows there’s not much he can do about it on his own, but he’s never been one to sit idle when something big is going down. The whole thing is suspicious, besides. How would Talon get into a Helix facility with no trouble whatsoever, even with a supposed super-hacker on their side? There had to have been somebody in the prison facility that would have questioned things, right? So what happened to them? _Something_ wasn't adding up. So naturally, McCree decided it was up to him to get to the bottom of it - which means he has to cut off the snake at the head. In Numbani.

But flights aren't exactly cheap. 

McCree grumbles to himself as he stands in line at the bank, alone and unhappy. He hates having to make appearances like this in person (credit chips are so much easier), but sometimes these things are necessary. Especially because he’s in desperate need of some untraceable money.

Booking a flight using credit isn’t exactly a good idea right now. Not after last time, when he’d flown to India and appeared on the news in the wake of a huge Vishkar break-in. He couldn’t exactly blame the media for thinking he had something to do with it (why would American outlaw Jesse McCree be in India but to cause trouble? Stupid as it is, it fits the narrative that’s formed around him well enough), and in all fairness, he _had_ broken in. But the assassination of Vishkar’s chief financial officer? That had nothing to do with him and everything to do with who else had been there that night.

McCree takes a step forward in line, sighing as he does so. Hanzo had said there was a chance that the cowboy would be blamed for something he did, and he’d been right. Although McCree had expected it, he was not particularly pleased about all the extra steps he now had to take to lay low and still keep working on his leads.

Being a local outlaw was one thing. Being an active international criminal was something else entirely.

One more person to go in front of him. He can see people around him eyeing him nervously, like they aren’t sure if he’s there to cause trouble for them or not. In hindsight, maybe he should have left the cowboy hat and serape at home, but he hadn’t really felt the need to be inconspicuous here. McCree had been very particular in his choice of city, and especially with this particular bank -- he’s known fairly well in these parts, and for once, it’s for his good deeds rather than his infamy. Pulling cats from trees, stopping a robbery or two, and saving a couple lives from gang shootouts had to have some advantages.

Still, with how much he’s been in the news lately, he can’t blame people for being suspicious. He’s a bad man, supposedly.

McCree doesn’t dwell on his undeserved reputation, though. He catches the eye (sensor?) of one of the omnic tellers milling about and waves politely to her. She stops, entire body going still for a moment. She looks around furtively and, apparently certain that the coast is clear, she opens up a closed booth and waves McCree over. 

“What are you doing here?” the omnic asks. Her voice is hushed and hurried, like she wants him out of there quick. He doesn’t blame her. 

“Nice to see you too, Sunshine,” McCree says, making sure to flash her his winning smile. “Don’t worry, I’m just here on a quick visit. I need some cash, you see.” 

“Sunshine. It’s been a long time since I heard that name.” She doesn’t sound amused. 

“Marisol, then. That’s right, ain’t it?” 

“Sí. I’d appreciate it if that were the only name you remembered me by from now on, too.” Marisol fixes him with what McCree can only guess is meant to be a stern look, but she turns her attention to the holoscreen in front of her rather quickly and taps away at the holographic keyboard, presumably putting in her credentials. “So you need money. Can’t use your credit chip?” 

“Nope. It’s got my name all over it. I’m in a spot of trouble, see, and I need somethin’ that can’t be traced. You know how it is.” 

“And bounty hunting doesn’t pay in cash?” In spite of her initial displeasure at seeing McCree and the trouble he’s been known to bring, her tone is fond (if a little sarcastic). 

McCree groans. “That well’s been runnin’ a bit dry as of late,” he admits. “I’ve had, uh… bigger fish to fry, let’s say.” 

“Like that man from Vishkar?” 

“That wasn’t me.” McCree frowns. “I mean, I was there, but--”

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Marisol says, dismissive. McCree can’t tell if she really believes he did it or if she’s messing with him. All the same, he’s grateful for the help. 

“I had my reasons for bein’ there, sure. But that don’t matter right now. I need cash, Marisol, and the quicker I’m outta your hair the better it’ll be for everyone here. You know the account.”

Her fingers still. 

“I no longer have access to--”  
  
“I do. Code bee-four-dee-four-five-five.” He says it quickly, quietly, like he’s afraid someone else will hear him. Not that any of the people here would know how to access his emergency Blackwatch account, but he’s never quite kicked the itch at the back of his neck when he speaks classified information out loud.

Marisol pauses to type in the account number and the code. Her faceplate remains impassive as she hits ‘Enter.’ “...Okay. I’ve got it. How much do you want?” she asks.

“A couple thousand should do. How about--” 

_**BOOM.** _

McCree is cut off before he can finish. He ducks and covers the instant he hears the noise, rolling out of the way of the chunks of plaster and debris flying through the air. Not everyone has his good reflexes, though, and a few people get hit by the blast’s wreckage. A quick glance over the damage tells McCree that even though some of them are a little worse for wear, nobody’s dead. Just dusty.

He coughs and sits up just in time to see two shapes form behind the dust clouds. 

“All right! Listen up, ya drongos! This is a robbery, so give us everythin’ you got or we’ll blow the place to smithereens!” 

The shapes step forward and form themselves into two silhouettes cutting through the dust. One is tall and thin and lanky, hands on his hips and peg-leg poised atop a pile of rubble; the other is large and round, an absolute behemoth of a man from afar. 

McCree has a bad feeling about this.

Once the dust settles enough for him to get a good look at the figures’ faces (well, one of them has a face. The other one wears a mask), McCree is immediately able to identify who these two are: the infamous Australian crime duo, Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge. 

Junkrat and Roadhog.

McCree stands up and looks over his shoulder. Marisol kneels behind the counter, looking up at McCree with the same flat, impassive eyes as always. He can’t tell if she’s bored or just waiting for him to give her some sort of signal.

“You okay?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice low. Marisol nods, but doesn’t speak.

“Good. ‘Cause I think my bounty huntin’ problem just got solved.” 

Junkrat and Roadhog amble into the bank. Junkrat’s bulging eyes narrow as he scopes out the place and takes note of the people inside. “What, don’t any of you lot speak English? I _said_ give us all your money or we’ll _blow_ the place!” 

McCree steps forward, spurs jingling, and puts a hand on the holstered Peacekeeper. “Come on, now,” he says. “It don’t have to be that way. These good people are just goin’ about their business, no need to get ‘em involved here.”

“And who the hell are you?” Junkrat asks, apparently affronted. He straightens up comically, like a meerkat. McCree is a little annoyed to see the junker’s got a good few inches on him. 

“Name’s McCree.” He reaches up and tips his hat, grinning without humour at the would-be thieves. “But more importantly, you’re those two junkers goin’ around robbin’ banks. Junkrat and Roadhog, am I right? Heard you just got finished in Dorado. What might you be doin’ up here in Sonora?” 

“It’s the latest stop on our tour through Mexico, of course!” Junkrat proclaims, as if this were obvious. If McCree had cared to think about it, it probably would have been. “Dorado was the big one, but we decided we needed to hit a few more tourist traps to -- waaaait a second.” He bends over again, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes as he hobbles closer to McCree, who backs up reflexively, puzzled by the sudden change in demeanor. “Did you say your name was McCree?” 

“Uh… yeah?” 

“As in Jesse McCree? _The_ Jesse McCree?” 

“One and the same.” McCree raises his eyebrows. Junkrat puts a hand -- a clunky, inelegant prosthetic -- to his chin and seems to study him for a moment, humming and hawing as he paces a circle around the cowboy. 

He circles McCree three times before at last, something seems to hit him. Junkrat straightens up with a big, wide smile and slaps his fake knee. “Well, fuck me sideways! You’re Jesse McCree!” He turns to Roadhog, who stands poised and ready with a downright nasty-looking meat hook clenched in his hand. “Get a load of this, Roadie! Jesse McCree!” 

Thrown for a loop and starting to get frustrated, McCree conspicuously grips Peacekeeper, still in her holster. “Alright, we all know who I am. Are we done with the pleasantries yet? ‘Cause I’m about ready to bring you two in, if you don’t mind hurryin’ this along.” 

“Bring us in? Now why would you -- Ohhh!” Junkrat whips back around to face McCree. His smile has shifted from manic and excited to shifty and nervous. He glances over his shoulder at Roadhog. “I get it! This is your territory, eh? Yeah, yeah, right, okay. Hear that, Roadhog? This is Deadlock territory, and Jesse McCree wants us out!” 

McCree sees Roadhog’s great body heave as he grunts. Junkrat frowns and turns around fully. “What do you mean, too far south to be Deadlock?” He snaps. “He’s right here, mate!” 

Another grunt. 

“Take him? Are you mental?! This is the guy that took out a whole squad of blues with one clip! And he’s only got six bullets! And he survived that train crash! And _engineered a bunch of train crashes!_ All the bombs in the _world_ ain’t gonna topple this guy!” 

One more grunt, longer and exasperated this time. 

“Nooooo. No no no. He’s one of us, right? Honour among thieves and all that. Come on, let’s just get outta here!” 

He turns around and starts to limp over to the door, completely ignoring the hole he’d just blown through the wall. “Sorry about all the trouble, mate! This robbery’s yours. Just remember your old pals Junkrat and Roadhog when you’re out there livin’ large!” He grins and waves at McCree over his shoulder. “Bye!” 

“Uh… bye?” McCree watches him leave, brain struggling to catch up with everything he’d just witnessed. He’d been planning to do whatever it took to stop this robbery from happening, but he hadn’t even had to draw his gun. This might be the first time he’s ever stopped a crime just by standing there and looking pretty. He isn’t about to complain about the lack of violence, of course, but something just seems totally amiss about the whole situation. 

And then it hits him: they’re getting away.

And bringing their bounties with them. 

“Hey, wait!” McCree puts a hand on his hat to hold it in place as he dashes to the door. He manages to catch the junkers just before they hop into their getaway car, and they look over at him with confusion. “C’mon, hold up--” 

“Eh?” Junkrat smiles at McCree as he comes to a stop before them. “Done already? See, Roadhog, I told you he was the real deal! Finishin’ up a heist in a minute flat, no wonder he’s famous!” 

Infamous, more like. The compliment is unwanted, but it still throws McCree off his rhythm a little. He has to swallow the urge to thank the junker for it, and in the time it takes for him to do that, Junkrat starts talking again: “So what made you follow us out here, then? Decided you wanna join up? Run around the world wreaking mayhem and reaping the rewards? Oooh, I dunno, mate, we’re preeee-tty busy, and all our plans are made for two… aw, hell, but you’re fuckin’ Jesse McCree, aren’t ya? Sure you can come with us!” 

“What? No, that’s not--” McCree actually has to physically shake his head to try and rid himself of the fugue Junkrat’s motor-mouth has thrust him into. “Look, I wasn’t--” 

But once again, he’s cut off, this time by the all-too-familiar feeling of something whizzing by his head. It comes close enough that it almost brushes his shoulder, but it’s clear that whatever it is, it isn’t aiming for him. Junkrat just barely manages to jump back out of the way in time before it sticks him right between the eyes. 

McCree whips around to try and see where the shot had come from, his heart beating a mile a minute. It’s not out of adrenaline for having almost had his ear taken off, but out of the familiarity of the situation washing warmly over him, like the comfort of home. As close as he can get to it, anyhow. 

“ _Oy!_ ” Junkrat screams behind McCree, but the cowboy doesn’t avert his eyes from the figure he’s just spotted perched atop the bank’s roof. “You again?! Watch where you’re aimin’, dipstick! You coulda taken my eye right out!” 

McCree beams. He takes his hat off and lifts it into the air, waving it in warm, happy greeting. “Howdy, partner!” 

He sees the figure visibly flinch at the greeting. A moment later, Hanzo begins his descent and jumps from the rooftop.

Junkrat gasps, more a high-pitched squeal than anything else, and McCree suddenly understands where he gets his name from. “Shit, here he comes! Step on it, Roadie!” 

He leaps away, throwing open the passenger-side door, but thinks better of hopping in alone and stops to turn around and grab McCree by the back of the serape. “Get in the car, mate!”

Before McCree can even start to protest, he’s yanked back forcefully and thrown into the front seat. Junkrat squeezes in after him, long limbs folding up to try and make a little bit more room. “NOW!” 

Roadhog floors it.

McCree looks in the rear-view mirror, and just catches a glimpse of Hanzo running to the spot they had just been in, an arrow nocked and ready to fly. He’s little more than a speck on the horizon, though, by the time the arrow sticks in the trunk of the car, and then he’s gone entirely, replaced by the flash of police lights and the screaming of sirens. McCree can only hope Hanzo’s gotten away in time for them not to cause him any trouble.

The cowboy sags against the seat, a little disappointed, which he realizes is absolutely the wrong reaction to have when being chased down by police. He can’t help himself, though. Seeing Hanzo again had lit some kind of fire in him, and he wants it back.

But it isn’t to be this time, apparently. McCree sighs, but he’s pulled from his reverie by Junkrat squirming next to him annoyingly. He tries -- and fails -- to shift away. 

“Sorry, mate, but would you mind gettin’ into the back? Need a little room to stretch the ol’ leg. The whole one, I mean. Ha ha ha ha ha!” 

McCree opens his mouth again, but decides that it isn’t worth the effort to argue and just does as he’s asked. It’s hard to climb over the front seats, but he does, and slumps in the back, arms folded across his chest petulantly. 

How the hell did he get into this mess? 

He’s rudely jerked from his thoughts before he can even form them when, after a moment and out of nowhere,  Junkrat laughs again, just as loud and obnoxious as ever. “Right on, we lost ‘im! Good riddance, too, slippery bastard’s been chasin’ us since Dorado. Maybe this time he’ll finally get the message!” 

McCree leans forward, placing a hand on the back of Junkrat’s headrest. “Since Dorado?” he asks, genuinely amazed. “He’s been on your tail that long and still hasn’t got you?” He’s a little bit impressed by the junkers, albeit begrudgingly. There aren’t many people out there who can give Hanzo Shimada the slip for this long when he’s actively tracking them. But then again, given the short time he’s spent with the Junkers thus far, McCree is starting to wonder if their specific brand of chaos is just too much for Hanzo. It’s almost too much for him, and he’s stumbled into more than his fair share of this sort of trouble before. All completely by accident.

“Yeah, he’s been a right pain in the -- hang on!” Junkrat’s eyes narrow and he spins around to face McCree. “You waved to him back there! Don’t tell me you _know_ the bloke?” 

McCree can’t help but grin. “You could say that.” 

“Oh, God,” Junkrat suddenly looks alarmed. “Don’t tell me he’s after you too!” 

McCree’s grin just grows. “Somethin’ like that.” 

Roadhog grunts next to Junkrat, and the car suddenly makes a sharp turn to the left. McCree lurches along with it, sprawling all the way across the back seat. Junkrat erupts in laughter and points at him. 

“That’s what you get for not wearin’ your seatbelt, mate!” 

McCree gawks at Junkrat from where he’s half-slipped off the seat, his hat askew and serape a tangle over his shoulders, because _seriously?_ The man’s missing an arm and a leg, the tips of his hair are perpetually aflame, and he willingly stands right next to bombs as they’re about to go off, but _seatbelts_ are where he draws the line of danger? 

He grumbles as he rights himself. “Damn crazy bastards, the both of you.” Fortunately, he’s quiet enough neither Junkrat nor Roadhog seem to hear. Or at least Junkrat doesn’t; McCree isn’t sure if that little huff Roadhog makes is a laugh or not. 

A few more twists and turns (this time after McCree’s buckled in properly), and soon the police sirens have faded away completely. McCree isn’t sure how Roadhog manages to maneuver the car into some of the narrow alleyways he’s taken without killing people, but he supposes the man isn’t called “Roadhog” for nothing. He’s just grateful that nobody seems to be getting hurt in the chase.

They stop outside of a dingy little motel, the kind of place McCree used to dread having Reyes send him to for a mission. Junkrat kicks the door open and jumps out of the front seat, inhaling deeply and looking around the deserted parking lot. “Ah, I love a good car chase!” he proclaims to nobody in particular. “Makes me feel alive!”

Roadhog exits the car next with a grunt. McCree is pretty sure that’s his way of agreeing with his partner in crime, but then again, that seems to be Roadhog’s only way of communicating at all. 

He follows suit and slides out of the car, dusting off the seat of his pants as if he’d gotten them dirty just sitting in the back of the car. 

“Well, fellas, it’s been a ride,” McCree says. “But now that we’ve made it outta there in one piece, think I’m gonna have to hit the road myself. Got places to be, things to do.” _Assassins to find_ , he doesn’t say. He reaches up to lift his hat off his head and fixes the two Junkers with a smile. “It was great meetin’ ya, really was. If you’re ever in the area again, please don’t let me know.” 

He backs up and places his hat right back on his head before turning on his heel to walk away, but before he can go more than two steps, he hears the shrill cry of Jamison Fawkes ring out behind him: “Wait a second, mate!”

McCree doesn’t turn around, but it doesn’t matter, because in a second Junkrat has hobbled up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I got a question for ya! It’s real important, too!” 

Against his better judgement, McCree relents. He lets out a puff of air and looks wearily at Junkrat out of the corner of his eye. “One question?” 

“That’s it!” Junkrat insists. 

McCree doesn’t believe him for a second, but he relents anyway. “Fine. Shoot.” 

“That crazy assassin guy, with the bow. You know ‘im, don’t ya?” 

McCree’s brows furrow. Hadn’t they already established that? “Uh, yeah. Why?” 

He doesn’t answer. Not properly, anyway. “So? How do you know ‘im, then? Is he after you?” 

From behind Junkrat, Roadhog grunts again. 

Junkrat whips his head around. “ _Noooo._ ” 

Another grunt. 

“ _Noooo!_ Really?” He turns again to squint at McCree. Roadhog grunts and wheezes. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” 

Another grunt. 

“Well I’ll be! You sly dog!” Junkrat jostles McCree, shaking his whole body with way less effort than he should have needed. “Makes sense, though! I saw the way you looked at him, come to think of it. Same way I look at Roadie over here when we’re all alone, like.” 

McCree wishes he hadn’t just heard that. But more than that, he wishes he hadn’t just overheard half a conversation about the Junkers speculating about his love life. He grimaces, but stays silent just a second too long, because Junkrat takes the opening he’s given to start yammering again. “It’s okay, mate! I get it. Heart wants what it wants, am I right? That’s why I went ahead and proposed to ol’ Roadie over there. Yep, it’s been a happy, happy, happy engagement.” 

Roadhog suddenly straightens up, clearly caught off guard. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, not quite as deep or confident as his previous grunts, and looks, alarmed, at the rings on his left hand. 

“Yep! See those rings on his fingers? Stole all of ‘em meself, just so he knew he was special enough to deserve four rings instead of just the one!” 

Roadhog makes another noise. His gaze darts back and forth between Junkrat and the rings on his fingers twice before he finally slumps in what seems to be defeat. McCree almost wants to go over there and give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but he isn’t quite  sure he won’t get shot for it, so he decides to stay put. Still, he feels some sympathy for the big guy -- he clearly hadn’t realized those were meant to be _engagement_ rings. McCree would have been upset too if he suddenly found out he was engaged without his complete consent. 

Unsurprisingly, Junkrat seems to be totally oblivious to his fiancé’s sudden epiphany.  

“So! If this guy’s the one for you, I’m not about to stop ya, mate,” he continues, as if nothing has happened at all. He puts his hands on his hips and smiles. McCree tries to pretend he doesn’t hear the sappy, sentimental sigh Junkrat lets loose. 

“...Right,” McCree says. “Well, then. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go find him.” 

“Of course! Go on, then! Go tell him how you feel!” 

Junkrat gives him a little shove and McCree stumbles, not having been prepared for the sudden force at the small of his back. He catches his hat before it falls off his head and turns to give Junkrat a sheepish, but grateful smile over his shoulder. 

“Thanks, partner,” he says. “Really appreciate it.” 

“Not a problem, mate! Oi, tell ya what, why don’t you bring him back here when you’re done? You know, for a little…” Junkrat brings his arms in close to his body and… kind of wiggles his shoulders and makes a face that McCree is pretty sure is supposed to be his version of bedroom eyes, or maybe biting his lip in pleasure. Either way, like so much he’s seen and heard in the past hour, he wishes he could erase it from his memory.

He holds up a hand. “Oh, naw, that’s--” 

“We’ll book you a room and everything! Won’t we, Roadie?” 

No response this time. 

“Good! It’s settled, then. Now off with ya!” 

Another shove to McCree’s back. This time, the cowboy runs off before anyone has a chance to stop him.

 

\------

 

He doesn’t go far.

McCree only gets far enough away from Junkrat and Roadhog that they can’t find him. Even though he _wants_ to get as far away from them as possible, after a little thought, he decides that would be counter-productive.

Junkrat had said Hanzo had been chasing them down since Dorado, which meant this had not been the first time Hanzo had attacked and, presumably, attempted to kill them. Which also meant this was not the first time Hanzo had tracked them down. And if he was that intent on killing the junkers, it wouldn’t be the last. 

So, naturally, if he wants to catch Hanzo, he has to stay close to the man’s prey. 

McCree crosses the street, walks a half a block to a used book store and café, and sets up shop there. He buys himself a chai latte, picks out a book to pretend to read, and sits himself down by the biggest window in the place. He’s got a pretty good view of the motel from here, and he watches it out of the corner of his eye as he turns the pages of his book. 

Nothing much happens. McCree’s latte gets cold, Junkrat and Roadhog check into a room, and that’s all McCree sees of them for the next two hours, which is just fine by him. 

They’re not who he’s looking for, anyway.

As McCree watches and waits, he wonders why he doesn’t just get the hell out of there and call it a day. If Hanzo hadn’t shown up, he’d have gotten his money and been halfway to the nearest airport by now to track down his lead on Talon. He knows that’s where he _should_ be right now, but…

But… Why isn’t he? 

It’s a little bit troubling that he’s so invested in seeing Hanzo again. McCree thinks back to Junkrat’s earlier words, and the apparent impression he’d had about their relationship. He seemed to think they were… McCree wasn’t sure. _Something._ Interested in each other, at least. But the way Junkrat had spoken, he’d seemed to think that McCree was… 

He shakes his head. No. He’s wrong. That can’t be it.  

But what is it, then? 

McCree thinks. If he had to say it out loud, he’d claim that this… interest was purely physical. Hanzo is an incredibly attractive man, _and_ he’s already slept with McCree more than once, with the tentative chance it could happen again. That’s enough to tell the cowboy that the feeling is at least somewhat mutual. But is the idea of getting his dick wet enough to cause this… _fixation_? Because if he had decided to be honest with himself, McCree would know that Hanzo is not the only fish in the sea. He’d be able to get a lay just about anywhere he went, if he so chose. 

But this is… different. There’s something more to this than just sex. Maybe it’s Hanzo’s competence. Maybe it’s the fact that they’d started this journey together, in a way. Discounting the first time they’d slept together, anyway. They’d discovered and thwarted a Talon operation, then uncovered another in one of the most influential companies in the world. It feels almost like they’re in this _together_ now.

And, well, if they’re in this together, McCree figures he can split the junkers’ considerable bounty with a clean conscience. 

The bell above the door tinkles. McCree checks across the street for signs of mayhem and sees nothing, but his body is tense all the same. He goes back to pretending to read his book, but one hand slides under his serape, ready to grab and toss a flashbang if he needs to. 

He doesn’t.

He relaxes. “Was wonderin’ when you’d show up.” 

Hanzo looks down at McCree over the top of the cowboy’s book. His lips are pursed, but they curl upward in a small smile. “And why is that?” 

It’s so easy, slipping into conversation with him like this. McCree closes the book and sits up with a grin. “Because I’m here.” 

Hanzo snorts. “Do you think I came here looking for you?” 

“No, ‘course not,” McCree says. “But I knew you’d come here looking for _them_.” He nods in the direction of the motel, where the junkers’ getaway car is still parked. The arrow Hanzo had shot earlier is still stuck in the trunk. “Exactly the same as me.” 

“We are two of a kind, it would seem.” Hanzo’s smile fades, replaced with a more serious look. “So they are there right now.” 

“Yup.” 

“And you are here, knowing that.” 

McCree shrugs. “They were kind enough to give me a lift outta there. Might’ve been blamed for a crime I didn’t commit if they hadn’t.” He fixes Hanzo with a pointed look, and the assassin chuckles.

“I did warn you.” 

“Yeah, but still ain’t fun bein’ an international criminal. Why would I want to kill the... Vishkar financial... whatever he was?” 

“For money, apparently.” Hanzo shakes his head, clearly still amused, but gets right back to business. “Speaking of which…” 

“Right. The bounties.” 

“The bounties.” 

“Didn’t know you were a bounty hunter.” 

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “McCree, if you do not answer me properly, I will tear that book from your hands and kill you with it.”

“Alright, alright.” It’s Jesse’s turn to laugh this time. “Figured we could split it, since you’ve apparently been chasin’ ‘em down since Dorado. What’s that all about?” 

Hanzo groans and lifts a hand to his face, hiding his eyes with it. “It is… a long story. One that originally had nothing to do with them whatsoever.” 

“But you got wrangled in their business somehow, and even you can’t explain how it happened?” McCree guesses, and from the look of pure loathing on Hanzo’s face, he guesses he’s hit the nail on the head. 

“They interfered, and my pride would not let them escape. I thought perhaps the bounty would be a nice reward for my trouble.” 

At this, McCree actually laughs, bright and loud and far too disruptive for the peace of this little shop. 

“What is so funny?” Hanzo demands, voice hushed to make up for all McCree’s noise. 

“Nothin’. It’s just that that’s exactly what got me involved with ‘em, too. Two of a kind is right.” 

Hanzo sighs. McCree can hear every last bit of hatred the man holds for Junkrat and Roadhog in it, somehow. 

“So what is our plan, then?” 

McCree grins and tips his hat up. “How do you feel about break-ins?”

 

\------

 

As it turns out, Hanzo has no problem at all breaking into someone else’s hotel room. He’s good at it, too -- better than McCree is, though he’ll never admit that out loud.

They wait until they see Junkrat and Roadhog leave the room, presumably to get something to eat. The days are still short, and the sun’s been down a few hours now; McCree’s stomach is grumbling, too, but he sets his hunger aside. There’s work to be done. 

It’s kind of amazing, McCree thinks, that Junkrat and Roadhog have managed to keep the room so clean when they’re both covered in so many layers of dirt. There’s almost no sign that anyone’s been in here at all - just a slightly-rumpled comforter on the bed, some drops of water clinging to the sink and bathtub (which was the most surprising part of all this, really. McCree wasn’t sure either of them knew what a bathtub _was_ , let alone how to use one), and a table with blueprints and half-assembled explosives on it. 

“Well we got the right room, at least,” McCree says. 

Hanzo eyes the table suspiciously. “Should we be worried about the room being booby-trapped?”

McCree puts a hand to his chin and strokes his beard in thought. “Hm. If I was a pair of criminals obsessed with explosives who were also tryin’ to keep some kinda huge secret… yeah, I’d’ve rigged this place to hell and back.”

The two of them look around. Once again, McCree is unnerved by how tidy the room is. “Then again… they also seem to be dumb as a sack of bricks.” 

Hanzo smirks. “I was not going to say it.” 

“Someone had to.” 

They decide to search the place anyway. It comes up almost entirely fruitless but for one half-baked time-bomb that has no time set to detonate. McCree carefully disassembles it anyway and surreptitiously pockets the pieces. 

He catches Hanzo raising an eyebrow at him and shrugs. “Could come in handy.” 

Hanzo does not say anything, unable to come up with an argument, but he still looks reproachful. McCree supposes that’s fair: Hanzo is an assassin, which means he has to maintain a certain amount of silence as he works. Bombs would be too far out of place with him.

Still, it'd be a shame to waste this one. And better in his hands than Junkrat's. 

 

\------

 

They wait for hours. 

Time passes slowly. It's the part McCree hates most, and always has. He can't even count how many days’ worth of hours he'd lost in Blackwatch just sitting around waiting for a target. He itches and twitches, antsy with the feeling. Even after all these years, he still isn't used to it. 

Hanzo is another story entirely. He sits in perfect silence, alternating between meditation and complete alertness. He's so quiet, in fact, there are times McCree forgets he's there, and when he turns around to see Hanzo staring at him, he starts. 

“What?” he asks (a little more testily than intended) the third time he catches Hanzo watching him. “I got somethin’ on my face?” 

Hanzo shakes his head, not put off at all by McCree's tone. “You are agitated.”

“Yeah, no shit.” McCree exhales and all the tension leaves him. “I hate this part.”

“Waiting?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” Hanzo shifts for what feels like the first time in hours, moving aside to make room for McCree on the bed. “I would have thought you would be used to this.”

“I was, for a bit. Always hated it, even in Blackwatch.” 

Hanzo nods. “I did, too. I was… much less patient in my youth.” 

“Mm.” McCree can only imagine. He almost doesn’t have to when the image of Genji, scarred and seething, springs to his mind unconsciously. “What changed?”

“I found ways to keep myself occupied.” 

“Yeah? Like what, meditation?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hah.” McCree grins and leans forward. “Too boring for me. But I can tell you what I do when I need to keep myself occupied…” 

McCree raises his hand, mimes grabbing hold of something, and shakes his wrist up and down in a rather crude gesture. Hanzo looks away immediately, but he isn’t quite able to hide how his cheeks glow and his lips quirk upward, though. “Uncouth,” he mumbles, but the laughter in his voice is apparent.

McCree laughs. “Aw, c’mon! You can’t tell me you’ve never done it. Not even once?” 

Hanzo doesn't meet his eyes. Doesn't say anything, either, and that's all the answer McCree needs. “I knew it! The great Hanzo Shimada's just a man after all!” he says, slapping a hand against his knee. Hanzo's face turns an even deeper shade of red. 

“Of course I am,” Hanzo says, and his voice is harsh but not unkind. “Did our last few encounters not prove that to you?” 

Another laugh. “Sure they did. Provided me with plenty to think about when I gotta wait for a target, too.”

It takes a second for McCree's meaning to sink in, but when it does, Hanzo chokes. “How uncouth,” he repeats, but he looks at McCree apparaisingly out of the corner of his eye, like he's waiting to hear more. 

But McCree doesn't take the bait. His laughter tapers off and he gazes at Hanzo fondly. “Yeah, suppose it is.”

They don't speak for a while after that. McCree continues to fidget while Hanzo pretends to meditate. Or maybe he really is trying - it's hard to tell with how often he glances over. 

McCree sighs. The silence is starting to get uncomfortable.

“Hardest part of it's that I can't smoke,” he says suddenly. It isn’t just an icebreaker; McCree really does wish he could smoke right now. Part of why he doesn’t is simple consideration for Hanzo and the motel's rules, but more than that, he doesn't want the smell to linger enough to alert the junkers when they finally return. 

“Hm.” Hanzo twists around and unhooks something from his belt - the same sake gourd they'd shared last time they'd met. “May I suggest swapping one vice for another?” 

He holds the gourd out to McCree and, like he's being pulled in by a magnet, McCree gets up from the table to sit next to Hanzo on the bed. “Drinking on the job? I expected better of you.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “I am not the one drinking.”

A shrug. McCree uncorks the bottle and lifts it to his lips. “Fair enough.”

He drinks deeply, knowing Hanzo won’t mind too much. He closes his eyes, savouring the taste but wishing it was something a little bit stronger. Still, it’s good, and he comes away from the drink satisfied. He catches Hanzo watching him, eyes dark with something. He licks his lips, tongue swiping up the last drop of sake that lingers there, and he watches Hanzo.

They hold each other’s gaze for just a moment. McCree isn’t sure if he or Hanzo moves first, but it hardly matters. Within a second, they’re on each other, Hanzo kissing him deeply and licking the sweet taste of sake from McCree’s lips. 

McCree groans, and it feels like diving into a lake on a hot summer day. He falls into Hanzo, lets the archer hold him, push him down to the bed, climb on top of him. He can’t control himself. Can’t fight the urge anymore. He knows they shouldn’t be doing this, that their targets will be back any second, but every hangup he has flees his mind when he feels Hanzo’s leg come to rest between his own. 

“Fuck,” McCree breathes, breaking away from the kiss to catch his breath. He ruts against Hanzo’s leg almost involuntarily, seeking out friction against his growing hard-on. Hanzo chuckles, deep in his throat, and groans when McCree surges up to sink teeth into his neck. 

Hands grasp and tug at his clothing. McCree follows the pull, letting Hanzo lift his shirt and slide his hands underneath it. His skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere Hanzo touches, and he gives himself up to it freely, desperately seeking more, more, more.

He’s amazed at how easy it is to give in. McCree has wanted this so badly for so long -- but it really hasn’t been that long, has it? Two weeks, maybe three. Doomfist got out a week after he left India, and it’s been nearly two weeks since that. It’s the shortest amount of time he’s gone between trysts with Hanzo, but somehow it’s like his body knows, like he craves the man’s touch. And only his.

It’s frightening. It’s exhilarating. 

McCree pushes Hanzo off of him just long enough to divest himself of all of his clothing. He tosses it all aside and falls back to the bed, naked as the day he was born, just to take his cock in his hand and stroke himself as he watches Hanzo shrug his clothes off, too. 

Then Hanzo is on him again, one leg on either side of McCree’s hips, and they’re kissing desperately, quickly, like they don’t know how long they have to enjoy the moment so they need to take, take, take while they still can. And in many ways, that’s probably true. So McCree takes.

Hands card through his hair, pulling him close. Hanzo kisses him hard enough to bruise, runs his tongue along the cowboy’s teeth fervidly enough to leave him breathless. McCree lifts his hips, presses his aching cock against Hanzo’s, and the rhythm of their kiss falters as Hanzo takes a moment to let the feeling wash over him. 

Hanzo lowers himself so he’s pressed flush against McCree, thigh-to-thigh. They fall into step together perfectly, like they’ve done this a hundred times before: McCree moves up, Hanzo moves down, they roll their hips together and grind against one another like this is the first thing either of them has felt in a long time. Or maybe they just know each other better than they think. 

Hanzo’s beard scratches against McCree’s neck when the assassin kisses a line down it. He stops only to suck a mark into the junction between neck and collarbone, and McCree gasps, hands clutching at Hanzo’s back. 

“You like this,” Hanzo says. It’s not a question; he knows the answer. 

“Almost as much as you,” McCree shoots back. Hanzo chuckles and kisses him again.

“Mm… perhaps.” 

He sounds doubtful. McCree knows he doesn’t need to prove himself, but he wants to, anyway. Wants to make Hanzo feel good. 

Wants to fuck him properly. 

He surges up to meet Hanzo’s lips again, and in the ensuing kiss, he takes the other man by surprise and flips their positions. Hanzo doesn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, he responds by bringing his legs up to wrap around McCree’s waist while he continues to try to grind against the cowboy. He’s lifted himself right off the bed to do so, and McCree takes this chance to put a hand to Hanzo’s back and hold him in place. 

Hanzo breaks the kiss and smirks up at him. “What are you doing, Jesse?” His voice is low, sultry. McCree shivers. 

“Just tryin’ to show you a good time, sweetheart.” 

Hanzo licks his lips. “Then by all means, continue.” 

McCree’s hand slides down, presses against the small of Hanzo’s back, then moves further until it rests on his ass. One finger slips along Hanzo’s crack to prod lightly at his hole, and Hanzo shivers. 

“You like that,” McCree says. Again, it’s not a question. 

“Almost as much as you.” 

McCree grins. Touché.

“Is that what you want, McCree? To fuck me?” 

Yes. _Yes_. 

“Yes.” 

He falls into Hanzo. Or, more accurately, he’s pulled into him, grabbed by two hands and dragged down into a searing, bruising, open-mouthed kiss. He follows readily, giving Hanzo just as good as he gets. He feels a shiver run through him when Hanzo tugs at his hair and moans into his mouth. 

His hips jerk up harshly, suddenly, and McCree whimpers. He ruts against Hanzo instinctively, pressing down in long, slow rolls of the hips, until the friction starts to drive them both crazy. 

“Fuck,” Hanzo gasps. His back arches and his hands scramble for purchase on McCree’s back, like he can’t decide if he wants to massage him or dig his nails in deep and hold him in place. “McCree--”

“Love it when you say my name like that,” McCree growls, turning his head to bite at Hanzo’s earlobe. He feels the cry that tears itself from Hanzo’s throat almost as much as he can hear it, and it sends a desperate wave of need through him.

“E-enough,” Hanzo pants. McCree pulls away and Hanzo immediately takes the opening to crush their lips together again. It doesn’t last long this time, though: Hanzo has more to say, and he will not be silenced, even by himself. “Not - enough--”

“What’s not enough, baby?” McCree asks. He feels a wonderful little thrill go through him when he feels Hanzo’s dick twitch against his own. “You want somethin’ more than this?” 

“Yes,” Hanzo hisses. He squirms out from beneath McCree (rubbing against him pleasantly as he does) and leans over the edge of the bed, giving the cowboy a very, very nice view of his ass. He’s so distracted by the view, in fact, that he barely notices Hanzo toss something at him until he’s already caught it.

In McCree’s hands are a condom wrapper and a small tube of lubricant. 

“...When’d you have the time to get this?” McCree asks. “Don’t tell me you were just carryin’ it around hopin’ for--” 

“When I ran into you earlier, I knew we would end up in a situation like this one way or another,” Hanzo says simply. He does not meet McCree’s eye, choosing instead to look away, as if that will hide the bright red tint his cheeks have taken on. 

McCree grins. “Great minds think alike, I suppose.” 

Hanzo does look at him now, but only out of the corner of his eye. He raises a brow. “Did you also…?”

McCree shakes his head. “Didn’t have the foresight to pick up any supplies, but damn if I didn’t want this to end up happening.” 

Hanzo’s lips twitch upward at the corners. “You are very predictable, do you know that?” 

“We’ll see about that.” 

McCree grabs Hanzo by the ankle and drags him back across the bed. He delights in the surprised yelp he gets, but doesn’t take time to revel in it until he’s climbed on top of Hanzo, one knee on either side of him. He grins down, taking a moment to appreciate how good the archer looks beneath him like this.  

He raises an eyebrow. Hanzo grins.

They move in at the same time, but they’re both too fast, too eager: they end up bumping noses and missing each other’s lips, but it hardly even registers; they’re on each other properly again without missing a beat, mouths open and tongues entwining and hands roaming over every inch of each other they can touch. 

McCree makes the first move. He slides his right hand over the ridge of Hanzo’s pelvis, down and inward until his finger brushes against the tender, sensitive skin between groin and thigh. Hanzo bucks into the touch, gasping through his nose. His fingers clamp down on McCree’s shoulders, encouraging, and McCree follows the unspoken command. He traces in further, fingertip gliding over Hanzo’s perineum until he once again finds the other man’s hole. 

McCree strokes him gently, teasingly, before pulling away to coat his fingers with lube. Hanzo doesn’t protest except for the little noise he makes in his throat, but it morphs into a long, grateful groan when McCree finally slips a finger inside. 

“Fuck, Hanzo.” McCree breaks away with a bite to the archer’s lip. His finger sinks in all the way to the knuckle. “Went in so easy…” 

“You… are not the only one who has been longing,” Hanzo says slowly, though it’s not clear if it’s because he’s taking his time to think or if he’s so focused on grinding against McCree’s hand he’s having a hard time getting the words out. If McCree were a betting man (and he is), he’d put his money on the latter. 

“Apparently. Don’t worry, though, I won’t keep you longin’ much longer.” 

McCree takes his time stretching Hanzo out. He’s wanted this for so long, he can’t help but want to savor it. He has a feeling he’ll probably see Hanzo again after this, but their respective futures are so uncertain he can’t know for sure if this won’t be the last time they get to…

Get to what? Make love? It’s the first term for it that comes to McCree’s mind, but he doesn’t know if he likes how it sounds, how it feels in his mind. But thinking of it as just fucking doesn’t seem right, either. And ‘having sex’ is too clinical, even if that’s the most accurate description of what they’re doing…

“McCree.” His name pulls the cowboy out of his sudden reverie. “Are you quite finished?” 

“Sorry, sugar.” McCree pulls his finger out, applies a fresh coat of lube, and presses it back in along with one other. Hanzo’s mouth hangs open as he lets out a shuddering breath. “Just got lost in you for a sec.” 

“F-foolish,” Hanzo says, but the lack of bite to his words tells McCree he doesn’t really care about how cheesy the line was. Still, just to shut him up, McCree crooks his fingers to stroke Hanzo’s inner walls. 

It gets exactly the reaction he’s looking for: Hanzo jolts, back arching stiffly and eyes going wide as if he’s just been shocked. McCree grins and repeats the motion, certain now that he’s just found the assassin’s prostate. 

Hanzo bites his lip. His brows pinch together and he tries, completely in vain, to get his breathing under control. McCree laughs, absolutely beside himself over how oddly cute he looks like this. Hanzo, whose sharp features and permanent scowl ensure he looks anything _but_ cute at any given time. 

“Wish you could see yourself right now,” McCree says. He pulls his fingers out, wipes them off on the bed, and rolls a condom on. Hanzo watches him with hazy, dazed eyes, and McCree wonders if he’s even comprehending what he’s seeing. Had he been brought close just from that? 

McCree coats his cock with a small drizzle of lube. He spreads it, stroking himself to full hardness, though he hardly needs any more encouragement than the warm, firm, willing body spread out in front of him. The show is mostly just to tease Hanzo, to rile him up. 

And rile him up it does. Hanzo glares at him. “What are you waiting for?” 

McCree laughs and half-shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure you were ready for me.” 

Instead of answering, Hanzo reaches down and spreads himself open. He smirks when McCree’s jaw drops, and the cowboy swears he can hear Hanzo’s thoughts in that moment: _Who’s ready now?_  

McCree doesn’t wait a second longer. He holds his cock in position and slides it right in. 

Hanzo feels even better than he did that first time. It’s a little easier this time, too, almost as if Hanzo had been preparing himself for it. If what he’d said before about longing is true, then McCree wouldn’t doubt it. Or maybe the angle is just better. It’s hard to tell when all McCree can really concentrate on is how hot Hanzo is, how tight the man is around him, how goddamn good he feels. 

How _right_ this all feels. 

Once he’s fully sheathed inside of Hanzo, McCree looks down at the archer. His eyes are closed as he tries to compose himself, and his fingers twitch where they grip the sheets. A thin sheen of sweat coats Hanzo’s chest, and a small stream of precum leaks from the tip of his cock. Without thinking, McCree reaches for it, wrapping his fingers around the head and thumbing at the slit to spread the slick around. 

To say Hanzo moans at that is not entirely accurate: he lets out some strange, high-pitched sound somewhere between that and a mewl. It’s uncharacteristically vulnerable, and McCree feels a strange, uncomfortably warm sensation wash over him as his cock twitches and his heart pounds against his chest. 

Hanzo looks up at him again through half-lidded eyes. His lips are parted just the slightest bit, and they open further when McCree slowly begins to tug at his cock. His chest heaves as he tries to steady his breath once again, but this time, he manages, and a smirk curls the corners of his mouth upward. 

“Why did you stop?” he asks. “Keep going, McCree.” 

McCree pulls his hips back. Snaps them forward again. Hanzo grunts, but he smiles through it. “You sure, sugar?” 

“I have never been more sure of anything.” 

McCree doesn’t believe him for a second -- Hanzo is far too self-assured for that -- but he takes the man at his word anyway and starts up a proper rhythm, thrusting in and out in time with Hanzo’s bucking hips. The faster he moves, the closer they get to each other: McCree starts out bracing himself with his hands on either side of Hanzo’s head, while Hanzo has his back flat to the mattress; soon he’s down on his elbows and Hanzo’s legs are wrapped securely around his hips, and within seconds of that their lips are connected, Hanzo lifting himself up and wrapping his arms around McCree’s neck while McCree holds Hanzo in place with hands firmly on his back. 

The angle changes. McCree hits something inside of Hanzo that makes the other man cry out and clench down impossibly tight around him. McCree loses his pace for a moment, winded by the sudden wave of pleasure that overtakes him, but he’s right back on it in an instant. He can feel himself getting close, especially when Hanzo starts to roll his hips in small circles, just the way he likes it…

“Fuck,” Hanzo chokes out. He buries his face in the crook of McCree’s neck and bites down, too hard, but it only spurs McCree on further. 

“I know, I know, I gotcha,” McCree says. He reaches down between them, unsure how he manages to fit his hand between the two of them, their bodies are so close and so tacky from sweat. He takes Hanzo’s cock in his hand and strokes it in time with his thrusting, and in seconds Hanzo is coming undone, coming between them with a strangled groan and one last thrust of his hips. It sets McCree off, too, and with one, two, three, four more hard thrusts, he finishes, too. 

They stay where they are, tense and suspended, for a few moments before exhaustion slowly overtakes their bodies. McCree is careful not to let himself fall; he slowly lowers both himself and Hanzo to the bed and lets the archer go. He braces himself on his elbows again, taking a second to commit what he sees to memory: Hanzo, relaxed, eyes closed and mouth open as he breathes deeply. There are no lines on his face at all -- almost like all the tension he  always carries with him has left his body for this one blissful moment. He’s beautiful like this -- well, he’s beautiful normally, but there’s something so unusually serene about him as he is right now that it steals the breath right from McCree’s lungs. 

Without thinking, McCree leans down and brushes his lips against Hanzo’s. It’s light and chaste, almost the ghost of a caress. Hanzo doesn’t react except to smile and pull McCree back to him when the cowboy climbs off. 

“You amaze me,” Hanzo says, so breathily and quietly McCree isn’t sure he knows he spoke aloud. He chooses not to acknowledge it for fear of ruining the moment, and instead he just strokes a lock of hair from his -- his lover’s? -- face. 

He doesn’t move for a while. Not until Hanzo’s breath evens out and he realizes the archer has fallen asleep. McCree can feel sleep calling for him, too, but he knows he can’t drift off just yet. He slips out of Hanzo’s arms and moves to the ensuite to clean himself off and dispose of the condom. He comes back with a damp towel, and he sees Hanzo’s eyes open lazily. 

“Clean me,” Hanzo says, and McCree has to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. Even half-asleep and drunk on post-coital bliss, he’s got that air of authority about him. 

“Already on it,” McCree says. He sits on the edge of the bed as he cleans up the drying jizz from Hanzo’s torso. Somewhere in the middle of it, Hanzo drifts off. 

McCree tosses the towel into the corner and pulls the covers up over Hanzo. He’ll take watch for now. Let Hanzo get some rest. The junkers will have to show themselves soon.

 

\------

 

The bed shifts. McCree groans, trying to claw at the last lingering traces of sleep clinging to the corners of his mind. 

“Five more minutes,” he says, and he reaches out, trying to cling to Hanzo and pull him back down into the bed. He almost succeeds, too, but ultimately only ends up managing to bury his face in the other man’s hip for all of about ten seconds. 

“No, McCree. Wake up.” Hanzo puts a hand on Jesse’s head and ruffles his hair impatiently. “They were here.” 

“They -- what? Fuck, we fell asleep!” McCree wakes up a bit more at that and sits up straight in the bed. Sure enough, across the room and on the table, every last piece of Junkrat’s tinkering is gone. In place of the mess is -- and McCree has to pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming -- a stack of three gold bars. 

“What in the hell?” 

Hanzo gets out of bed and moves toward the table. He picks up a sheet of paper that was left on it, reads it quickly, and curses it under his breath. 

(And with that one utterance of the word “fuck,” McCree is sent right back to last night, right back to Hanzo arching up beneath him and clutching his shoulders like if he let go, he’d drown; and suddenly, Junkrat and Roadhog and their bounties and the gold they’ve left behind don’t seem to matter all that much anymore.)  

He watches Hanzo’s eyes dart over the lines of the letter, not really paying attention to the steadily-growing scowl on his face. He’s lost in memories of last night right up until Hanzo thrusts the letter away from himself and into McCree’s hands. 

“Read it,” he says. 

McCree frowns and lifts the paper up to eye-level. In the messiest scrawl he’s ever seen, he reads: 

_Dear Jesse McCree,_

_Sorry about getting up and running off like that but we have places to be and people to rob and they arent gonna just do it themselves otherwise what are we here for. But we know how bad you wanted to come with us so we wanted to leave you a gift to say thanks and sorry too. We were gonna come give it to you last night but we found you in our hotel room sound asleep and you looked too happy to wake up so Roadie said we should just go and leave the gold behind. I said sure mate and then wrote you this letter to keep you up to date on where we all stand._

_Anyway we’re really big fans of your work and if you ever need a favor we owe ya one. But only one because the gold was for helping us get away from the police and the other favour is for keeping old crazy bow guy distracted so we can get away._

_Speaking of bow guy HE GETS NONE OF THIS! This is all for you because he was trying to kill us and we don’t appreciate that. So enjoy the gold and remember IT’S ALL FOR YOU AND ONLY YOU._

_Love,_

_Junkrat + Roadhog_

McCree’s eyebrows are up somewhere in his hairline as he reads the last two lines over again. “Wow” is all he can say. When he lowers the letter and looks at Hanzo, the other man has his face in one hand. He twirls a finger around, gesturing for McCree to turn the letter over.

“There is more on the back,” he says. 

McCree turns it over. On this side, the handwriting is loopy and elegant: 

_P.S. - I know what you were really there for. If either of you come after us, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do. Jesse McCree or not, you’ll be dead meat. R.H._

“Charmin’ fellas, those two,” McCree mumbles. He folds the letter up and tosses it back onto the table before turning back to Hanzo. “So--”

“Was this all a part of a plan?” Hanzo asks. Where there would usually be venom behind his words, there is none. He just sounds tired. 

“What d’you mean?” 

“Did you sleep with me just so they could escape?” 

McCree balks for a second, then, perhaps a bit inappropriately, barks out a laugh. “What? No! No, I didn’t.” 

Hanzo nods. He seems to take McCree at face value. “I thought not. Still, you are such a strange man, and you put your trust in the strangest people. I wondered…” 

McCree shrugs. “I suppose that’s fair. But naw, I wouldn’t sleep with you to help those two lunatics if they paid me double what they left. And speaking of…” McCree puts his hands on his hips as he once again looks at the gold bars. “How d’you think we’re supposed to split this?” 

Hanzo looks up, incredulous. “What?” 

“Or… get any worth outta one, for that matter. What, do I sell it online?” 

“You cannot be serious.” 

“And how’re we supposed to carry ‘em around? Did they just not think about it?” 

“I doubt those two think of anything,” Hanzo spits. He sighs, shifts in his seat, and looks up McCree. “And what do you mean, ‘we?’” 

McCree shrugs. “Just what it sounds like. ‘We.’ You’re takin’ half.” 

“But they said…” 

“They ain’t here. How’re they gonna know? Besides, I feel like I cheated you out of a bounty, and these three bars together are probably worth at least some of it, if not the whole thing. So just take the damn gold and we’ll figure it out from there.” 

Hanzo snorts, but there’s a slight pull at the corner of his lips. “You are a fool.” 

“You know, some people might say thank you.” 

Hanzo looks away. Pauses. But eventually, he nods. “Yes. You are right, of course.” He pauses. “...Thank you.” 

McCree grins. “Now that’s more like it.”

 

\------

 

They decide to take the gold to the same bank this all started at. McCree is amazed they’re still open after everything that had happened, but when they get there he realizes there actually hadn’t been that much destruction after all. After the rubble had been cleared, it was really just a giant hole in the wall. 

Marisol is, again, reluctant to help them out, but in the end, McCree pulls the favour card and she gives them what they’re owed in exchange for those ridiculous gold bars. She gives it to them in cash - untraceable - and keeps it off the books as an added courtesy. 

“Don’t come back here again,” she says. “I’d rather we not repeat the same mistakes we made last time.” 

“You and me both,” McCree agrees. He smiles. He has faith in the monkey, but he knows Overwatch has a long way to go before they’re trusted again. 

And he’ll be there, helping from the shadows, until they are. 

He exits the bank and meets Hanzo outside, handing him his fair share of the cash. Now that he’s got the money he came here for (albeit not at all how he had expected to get it), he can head off to his next destination. 

He looks at Hanzo. It would be so easy to ask if he wants to come along, to help him investigate the mystery surrounding Talon and Blackwatch. For a moment, he seriously considers it, but he holds himself back; Hanzo has his own problems to worry about, his own goals to achieve. He has no investment in this, and really, McCree can’t justify putting him at risk. 

Can’t risk having Hanzo jeopardize him.

He thinks about an offhand comment Reyes made years ago: that he’d considered Hanzo for Blackwatch along with Genji. It’s true that Hanzo’s got more than the required skillset to help him pull this off, and could potentially be a big help. But something about that just doesn’t sit right with McCree. This is _his_ mission. His way of making amends for leaving Overwatch -- for leaving Blackwatch -- when things were at their worst. And Hanzo’s got his own redemption to think of, besides. 

No, he decides. They’re on similar paths, and even though they might overlap at some point, they aren’t meant to converge. Not yet. Not until they’ve both figured out where they’re going.

Hanzo looks up at him, too. “You are leaving,” he says. 

McCree nods. He fishes for a cigar and lights it, taking two quick puffs and blowing smoke into the air before he answers. “Got some leads I need to look into. This has been a nice distraction and all, but...” 

Hanzo nods. “I understand.” 

He pulls out his phone, taps a message into it. McCree wonders who he could be talking to. “I have things I must tend to, myself.” 

“Then this is goodbye.” McCree takes another drag of his cigar. 

“Yes.” 

There’s a moment of silence between them, but Hanzo breaks it by plucking the cigar from McCree’s lips. “Then permit me one last favour.” 

He tosses the cigar aside, grabs McCree’s face in both hands, and kisses him firmly. He keeps it clean, but can’t resist dragging his tongue across the seam of McCree’s lips one last time, for one last taste before they part ways for what might be the last time. 

When they pull apart, they stand there, staring at each other, for just a moment longer. Then Hanzo smiles, steps back, and vanishes into the back alleys of the city. 

McCree pulls the brim of his hat over his eyes. It’s time for him to move on.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, have a chat, or find out how to support me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r) or follow my writing blog [@intim3ate](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com), where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests.
> 
> If you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1122210346939244544). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
